


Got My Mind on You

by problematic_pleasures



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Camaraderie, Character Death, Grief, Grieving, M/M, canon character death, overcoming differences, possible canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: Negan visits Carl at sunset.





	Got My Mind on You

**Author's Note:**

> buriedbrain on tumblr gave me a list of prompts, and 'sunset' really inspired me. this is real sad, so, uh, enjoy? (is it canon character death if it hasn't happened in TV canon, but we know it's coming? i think so)

“Hey kid.”

Negan sits and uses Lucille as leverage to lower himself easier. Once he’s settled he stares at the bat, freshly cleaned, and debates leaning her up against the chipped block. He decides against it and lays her flat on the ground instead, in front of the grave. Still easy to grab is someone or something comes sneaking up on him.

Negan looks up slowly, still not quite able to face the truth in front of him.

Hasn’t been able to actually come out here since it happened. Not since he saw Rick and Daryl haul that huge fucking slab of concrete across Alexandria. Not since he saw every single fucking person take a turn at chopping away some of the weight, until it resembled a true grave. Not since he slipped into Alexandria himself and stared Rick down until he passed Negan a chisel and hammer.

He perfected the edges, since there wasn’t much left to do by the time Negan put his pride aside and confronted Rick. He admires the smooth curve of the tombstone now, and wishes he could feel proud of the craftsmanship. It’s a far sight better than the wooden poles people put up, sometimes.

Negan swallows the lump of emotion in his throat and reaches out to touch the stone. He traces his fingertips over the words clumsily carved into the slab. He winds his finger around the curve of the _‘C’_ and the _‘G’_ and wonders what his middle name was. When he asked Rick, the other man sheepishly admitted he couldn’t remember.

 

 

_“Didn’t come up a lot. He was a good kid, didn’t have to middle name him all that often.” Rick shakes his head as he carves. He scowls when the chisel gets away from him and digs a wayward groove into the concrete. “Hadn’t had to think about that in years.”_

 

 

Negan shakes his head. “Miss you, kid.” He’s at least grateful Rick remembered his birthday. It’d be goddamn sad as hell if that wasn’t on there. There’s no end date; none of them have a fucking clue what day or month or year it is anymore. Negan thinks it’s early fall. Something about the air reminds him of the start of school, though he knows that’s not much to go by.

“S’not the fuckin’ same.” Negan is barely able to get the words out. They catch in his throat like a clogged pipe, and he coughs awkwardly. A quick glance around assures him he’s still alone, but it doesn’t make it any easier to speak. “Your daddy an’I are actually fucking workin’ together. Isn’t that some shit?”

There’s no response, not that he expected one. He still hopes, sometimes. He’ll say something under his breath, or just loud enough that only someone right beside him could hear. There’s never a response.

Negan presses one hand against his eyes and tries to push back the tears. He didn’t cry much when Lucille died—but then again, he didn’t have to be the one to take her out. He sent some kid after her, too much of a coward to do his wife one last fucking favor. He can admit that’s what drove him to step up to the plate with Carl.

Rick offered, and Michonne—really, everybody did. The sense of community was stronger than ever, spurred on as Carl got sicker. Carol and Maggie and Daryl all stepped forward, but in the end it was Negan. He had Carl’s favored gun in hand, and Carl had nodded. It’s a foggy moment, Negan was a little drunk, and spent a not inconsiderable time after the fact drinking _more_.

 

 

_“Do it.” Carl groans. He’s pale and sickly; his lips are blue and the fever rolls off him in waves. It’s nearly impossible to be near him. The stench of death clings to his skin and as much as Negan wants to kiss him, it’s hard to feel the clammy skin under his lips. It’s even harder to hear the strangled, rasping breaths that fall from Carl’s mouth._

_“Do it.” Carl’s voice is stronger, a demand. “I want Negan to do it. It should be him.”_

 

 

No one had questioned it after that, though Negan knew Rick wanted to. It was just too much to go against Carl at that point. Negan wouldn’t have denied the kid a single fucking thing, and he took some solace in knowing Rick felt the same.

“We’re workin’ together now,” Negan says again. “Got a good barter system going. No one’s died since.” His voice catches. “Since you.” He drops his gaze to his lap and finally closes his eyes. “It’s not my favorite thing. Your daddy is still up on a fuckin’ high horse. But… I’m doing it, you know. For you. Cuz of you.”

Negan pinches the bridge of his nose. It takes him a while to calm the hammering of his heart. He breathes deep and counts down from ten over and over until he feels less like vomiting. He still can’t open his eyes, it hurts too much to look at the grave. He stays there, choked up, until an evening chill whips past him and brings him out of his thoughts.

He looks up. He’s surprised to see the sky painted in pinks and oranges and purples. It’s gorgeous and it only adds to the ache in his chest. His heart feels weighed down practically into his gut. Negan stares at the sky far longer than really necessary. For as much as it makes things worse, it also kind of helps.

Eventually, he looks back at the grave and sighs. “Sorry, kid.” He doesn’t bother glancing around this time. He leans forward and presses his shaking, chapped lips to the cool headstone. He stays there a while, until the tears recede and he can breathe mostly easy. Without lingering he stands and grabs Lucille off the ground.

He turns on his heel and walks away. He makes it a few feet before he runs into someone, and isn’t shocked to see Rick standing on the beaten path with a handful of flowers. They both stop and regard each other. Negan is painfully aware of the tear tracks sticking to his skin, even if they’re hidden by his beard. Rick’s eyes are already red-rimmed and look sore.

“You goin’ back?” Rick asks, gruff.

Negan nods.

Rick looks down at the mismatched flowers in his hand. “I won’t be long. Was just here the other night. Thought it might be nice to put out some fresh ones.” He shakes the bouquet. Negan is about to nod again and brush past Rick—they aren’t friends, not even close—but the other man speaks again. “Why don’t you come over for a drink after I’m done?”

Negan blinks. “Are you shittin’ me, Rick?”

Rick actually smiles, though it looks as pained as Negan feels. “Yeah, I’m serious.” He shrugs. “You don’t have to.” Rick starts off the way Negan just came from. He stops once he’s a few feet past where Negan stands. “I may not have understood it, and I sure as hell never want to hear the details but… But I think you and I maybe understand this a little better than anyone else.”

Negan nods, then clears his throat when he remembers Rick can’t see him. “Alright.” He agrees. “If I go up to your house am I gonna be shot on sight?”

Rick laughs this time. “No, you won’t. Go ahead and get started without me. I won’t be long,” he says again. He walks away again and he doesn’t stop. Negan starts to walk when the faint sounds of Rick talking to the grave filter over the wind. It feels wrong to intrude.

Negan slips into Rick’s home without fanfare. Michonne isn’t around, neither is Judith, so he goes right to the liquor cabinet. It’s sparsely stocked but he knows there’s a nice bottle of whiskey stashed in there. He brought it to Alexandria for some reason or other, and is glad for it now.

He pours himself a few fingers and knocks them back. He’s a glass or three down by the time Rick wanders in. There’s not a word spoken as Rick grabs a glass of his own. He holds out his cup and Negan fills it nearly halfway, then refills his own. They raise their glasses in unison and gently tap their drinks together. Negan nods and Rick grins faintly, and they both swallow their drinks in one go.

Negan keeps refilling their drinks until eventually they stumble over to the couch. Still reluctant to speak to or even look at Rick, Negan looks out the window instead. The sky is more purples and blues now, the oranges and pinks fading away. Heart aching once more, Negan reaches for the bottle and realizes it’s empty, and Rick laughs.

Despite himself, Negan laughs too. It hurts, it pulses in pain like a bullet wound that he can’t stop fucking with. Because he’s drunk off his ass with his dead lover’s father, and it’s the happiest he’s been in a long goddamn time. There aren’t words for how ridiculous it is, but that only adds to the humor. Faintly he feels like something is carving his heart from his chest each time he gasps for air, and he has to set his cup aside before it tumbles to the carpet.

“I miss him,” Negan finally declares, voice thick and tight.

Rick stops laughing slowly. “I miss him, too.”

Negan shakes his head. “What a fuckin’ pair we make, huh?”

“It’s what he would’ve wanted.” Rick’s reply is swift and immediate.

Negan regrets drinking all the good liquor so fast but the buzz is dulling his senses enough. He nods, and replies, sad but sure.

“Yeah, it is.”


End file.
